


Five to Nine, Nine to Ten

by Antivigilante



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), mortal kombat x
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Coffee, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antivigilante/pseuds/Antivigilante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earthrealm doesn't like the new proposed company merger. Outworld insists they don't have a choice. Triborg would like to get working as soon as possible if Mileena could stop slopping coffee all over the place. It's the lack of cheeks, really. And manners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five to Nine, Nine to Ten

**Author's Note:**

> Started as a drabble challenge. Suddenly the stars aligned. Future chapters/drabbles will be longer and more cohesive plot wise.

Monday 

The transfer was on Monday morning. The thrumming floor of the PR department paid no heed to the technological addition to the hustle and bustle of the thriving business corridor.

Another Monday morning had crept up on the office and the employed worker class were up bright and early to deal with the onslaught of new contracts and subsequent workload increase expected of the new spring season. Milling about the cubicles and greyscale workspace, fingers typed fluidly and consistently with an aura of nervous yet focused energy, customary of such a cutthroat corporate environment. Save for the ruling class.

Executives had their own share of hardships, assuredly. Let it never be said they merely lazed about firing workers and stripping benefits for fun and stress relief. Never.

“A toy.”

The rustling of an unpacked boxed paused. Supplies and tools were already artfully arranged around the generous silver Mac monitor booting the latest OS. No stray trinkets lay about the arching desk nor the shelves behind it. The silence allowed the muffled sentence, a statement, to settle in. The observation was spoken in an upward drawl; a silent query. 

The white coffee mug perched in a delicately bent hand steamed in small trailing puffs. It obscured the mouth sitting under sharp, gleaming jaundice eyes. Squinting at the desk occupant, an arched brow flattened. The tilted mug returned upright to allow quenched, rasped words passage. The standing figure braced casually on the entryway of the generous ergonomic cubicle. 

“How adorable.”

Analytical algorithms ran in overlay across casually observant lenses. A minute adjustment, fractional, extended behind the glass. Electric fans whirled lazily, cooling the processor cataloging the current data. Then the desktop startup finally chimed.

The toy looked back.

“Mockery will not be tolerated.” All depth and no pitch. The staccato delivery brokered a total of zero arguments. Except the one.

A coy, slithering tone dispatched a headache that could not be experienced, merely felt. The sneer didn't linger. 

“Get used to it.”


End file.
